


Farsi

by immistermercury



Series: farsi! verse [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (this is dubiously written I'm sorry english is my first language), Fluff, Heaven, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Realising Sexuality, They all lived happily ever after, and their first date!, and their first kiss!, briefly, but in a fun way, but they all get over it, freddie is still learning english, late sixties, our boys' first meeting!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury
Summary: Jim was certain that he’d never had a better idea than this; the pretty boy behind the counter made the most perfect eye candy whenever he looked up from his books. He’d been in the cafe for three hours, and Freddie had brought him new drinks every so often, with hearts or flowers painted with milk and the shyest little for you, sir before he ran back behind the counter; he was infinitely thankful that Jim had suggested this job for him.He folded his apron carefully as he prepared for his lunch break, washing his hands methodically again before he served himself up a little food. He sat on the bench opposite Jim, offering him a shy smile when he saw him look up.Jim pushed his books to the side and leaned forward. “How are you doing?” He asked curiously.Freddie seemed to blush as soon as anyone directed any form of conversation his way; Jim found it adorable. He’d been wondering, for a few months now, if he maybe liked boys more than he liked girls; he’d wondered how he’d ever know for sure.The dark eyes, dark eyelashes, beautiful high cheekbones of the man in front of him, seemed to answer his question.
Relationships: Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury
Series: farsi! verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581055
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	Farsi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aussiebornwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebornwriter/gifts).



> For Cliona! I promised I would write some Freddie learning English, and here we go - I promise I didn't forget about it!
> 
> This is sponsored by the gorgeous Spanish boy who works in Foyles in London and speaks very sweet and very broken English...

The sun was slinking away into the night, sulking away with regret that she could no longer splash her light on the new boy. He was interesting, she thought, radiant; he would upturn his face into her golden glow to ground himself, reminding himself of when she’d shone on him day and night in India. He wasn’t so used to her tendency to hide behind clouds, teasing him with jolts of warmth and then jolts of cold, forever keeping him on his toes; he missed the days of lounging in the lethargic heat, sat by the poolside and dipping his feet in the cool water to regulate his temperature.

Now, he was wandering through the streets of Covent Garden, glancing up at the theatres all around him, and he had to wear a fucking jacket.

He’d been in London for three days, and he’d finally signed the lease for a flat that he was moving into in the morning; living out of hotels was tolerable, but it felt like the first real step to have a place of his own in such a big city. His parents had told him off for choosing one in Kensington, a little too expensive - he’d probably end up with a flatmate, but he’d think about that when he’d finally made friends - but it was beautiful, and he was excited to decorate it himself.

He pushed open the door of a tavern and looked around the room, relaxing when he saw it wasn’t too busy. He wasn’t confident enough yet to walk into one of the bigger, cheaper bars, to order a drink and risk embarrassing himself when he inevitably pronounced something wrong. In hindsight, he considered that he’d been cocky, assuming that he knew enough of the language to get about just fine - he could order a coffee, he could hold a decent conversation, he knew to add in extra prepositions because it sounded more natural - but, in practice, it was so much harder than he ever thought it would be.

“What can I get you, gorgeous?” The bartender asked him, and he cursed internally - the English had so many pet names, so many synonyms of the same thing, and he didn’t understand the idiosyncrasies of each word, if it was friendly or something more or if he should feel threatened. 

Freddie picked up a menu and scanned over it quickly, cheeks warming when he realised that he didn’t know what half the ingredients were in each drink, and he had no hope in hell of pronouncing them to ask. “What- what would you-” He hated that he seemed to lose his English when he got stressed. The word was  _ tewsah,  _ for fuck’s sake, and he couldn’t think of what it was in English - the barman raised a kind eyebrow and his cheeks burned.

“Recommend?” He asked softly. “The Half-hour Gentleman, I think. It’s got a kick to it.” He smiled. “Is that your kind of thing?”

“Kick to it?” Freddie echoed. “I- yes. Thank you.” He added quickly, fumbling with the money in his wallet.

The man started pouring the drink, and he smiled. “Are you new around here, darling?” He asked.

“I come here three days ago.” Freddie smiled, trying to relax. “I come from India.”

“India?” The barman whistled. “I’d love to go to India. It must be a culture shock to be here in winter, it’s fucking freezing.” He chuckled.

Freddie mouthed helplessly for a moment, trying to make sense of the sentence in his head; there were too many words he didn’t understand -  _ cūlha translated to a fucking cooking range, he was sure, but how the hell did that make sense in that sentence  _ \- and so he settled for smiling helplessly and staring down at his fingers as though they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the whole of London. 

The barman seemed to sense his nervousness and pushed his drink across to him with a smile. “My name’s Jim.” He held out a hand.

Freddie shook it nervously and tucked his hair behind his ear. “Farrokh.” He murmured, digging through his wallet for the right combination of coins until Jim carefully laid his hand over his.

“It’s free. You don’t have to pay.” Jim said gently. “What did you say your name was?”

Freddie looked up with bright eyes, struck by his generosity: people in London had been so open and so lovely as soon as he’d set foot at Heathrow. “Farrokh.” He repeated as quietly, but then cleared his throat and smiled. “Freddie.”

“Freddie.” He smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

His cheeks pinkened but he smiled delightedly. “Do you-” He thought carefully about how to phrase his question. “Do you know a job?”

“A job?” Jim leaned on the counter and cocked his head curiously. “What do you mean?”

_ Freddie’s most hated question.  _ “Around here.” He tried to clarify. “A job around here. For me.”

“Oh, like if there’s anyone looking for someone to work for them?” Jim smiled. “I mean, how good are you at making drinks?”

Freddie nodded enthusiastically, and then frowned. “I do not know the drinks.” He said bashfully. “I do not know- I do not know what the names are.”

“We could teach you.” Jim shrugged. “What about coffee?”

Freddie’s face lit up. “I know the coffee.” He nodded quickly. “I know the cappuccino, the latte, the macchiato, the-” He paused for a moment to think. “I know the americano, too.”

“I think that’s all you’d need to know. My friend, he works in a coffee shop, maybe you could work there?” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s your choice.”

Freddie appreciated that he seemed to be trying to simplify his language; it was much easier to understand him now. “I could work there. But- but how?” He asked naively, sipping his drink.

Jim managed to stifle his laughter when he nearly spat out his drink; he supposed he hadn’t had something quite so strong before. “I could ask my friend.” He offered. “You might need to go and ask them. I’m sure they’d take you if you could show that you were good.”

* * *

Jim was certain that he’d never had a better idea than this; the pretty boy behind the counter made the most perfect eye candy whenever he looked up from his books. He’d been in the cafe for three hours, and Freddie had brought him new drinks every so often, with hearts or flowers painted with milk and the shyest little  _ for you, sir  _ before he ran back behind the counter; he was infinitely thankful that Jim had suggested this job for him.

He folded his apron carefully as he prepared for his lunch break, washing his hands methodically again before he served himself up a little food. He sat on the bench opposite Jim, offering him a shy smile when he saw him look up.

Jim pushed his books to the side and leaned forward. “How are you doing?” He asked curiously.

Freddie seemed to blush as soon as anyone directed any form of conversation his way; Jim found it adorable. He’d been wondering, for a few months now, if he maybe liked boys more than he liked girls; he’d wondered how he’d ever know for sure.

The dark eyes, dark eyelashes, beautiful high cheekbones of the man in front of him, seemed to answer his question.

“I’m okay, thank you.” He said shyly, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Happy.”

Jim smiled widely at him. “I’m glad!” He replied. “Is the job good?”

“Really good.” Freddie beamed back. “The boss says I’m pretty.” He glowed.

Jim chuckled and leaned over to take his hand lightly; Freddie glanced down at their joined hands and went from blush pink to scarlet. He couldn’t deny that the man in front of him was incredibly attractive, and he’d been caught staring at his lips more than a few times by the boys behind the counter, making jokes about him being a fairy - he was sure that was a  _ pera,  _ and he thought they were pretty and ethereal.

He could be pretty and ethereal, he was sure.

But he knew it was wrong to look at men like that, and so he pretended to be looking at the girl beside him, all long blonde hair and blue eyes, a traditional English rose; between his broken justifications and scarlet cheeks, he wasn’t very believable. 

“You are pretty.” Jim said gently, smiling at him. 

Freddie looked away and laughed shyly. “Thank you.” He murmured.

“I was thinking that I might go out tonight. Would you want to come?” He offered. He wanted to get to know Freddie more, so much more; he could tell that there was something special about him.

Freddie smiled keenly. “I would like that.” He replied. “Where will you go?”

“Ever been to Heaven?” Jim asked. “Next to Charing Cross station, over on the Embankment.”

There were too many directions in that statement; Freddie’s head spun a little. “Heaven?” He echoed dumbly.

“It’s a bar.” He explained. “Well, more of a club. Lots of music and dancing.”

Freddie liked that idea; he liked to dance, and it would mean that he didn’t have to talk too much. “I’d like that.” He beamed.

“I’ll pick you up from here.” Jim’s heart pounded a little; it felt almost like a date. “Wear something pretty.”

* * *

Freddie couldn’t stop looking around, and he was sure his jaw was almost on the floor - there were men kissing men here, big burly bears and men almost feminine in how they held themselves, chapped lips and soft lips and buttered lips and bitten lips. Freddie wanted to kiss every single one of them, just to know what it felt like, just to know how those hands would feel if they were on his waist, those lips against his lips, rough fingertips on his jaw and his hair-

“Can I get you a drink?” Jim asked, winding an arm around his waist protectively, and Freddie’s heart jumped as he suddenly realised why he was here, why he’d been invited.

“I-” He stammered, every single word he’d ever had disappeared from his mind, his tongue. “Belh letfa.” He whispered nervously, biting his lip, the words coming before he could stop them.

Jim smiled. “Say that again.” He replied.

Freddie bit his lip nervously; he hadn’t meant to speak Persian, definitely not when he may or may not have been on a date with the most attractive Irishman he’d ever seen. “Belh letfa.” He repeated shyly.

The arm around his waist got tighter and Freddie couldn’t help the smile that blossomed across his face; Jim didn’t think it was odd, wasn’t put off by him. He watched as he ordered two drinks with seamless confidence, and Freddie smiled up at him when he turned back to him. “Thank you.” He said shyly.

“Was that Hindi you were speaking?” He asked curiously. "You said you lived in India, right?"

“No.” He bit his lip. “I can- I can speak Hindi.”

“Say something for me.” He requested, running his thumb over Freddie’s waist. “In Hindi.”

“Main tumes peyaar kertaa hun.” Freddie said softly, his heart in his mouth in case this was a trick, in case Jim knew what it meant. It was hardly conventional to say  _ I love you  _ before the first kiss. 

Jim rested his forehead against Freddie’s. “You sound beautiful.” He said softly. “What were you speaking before?”

“Persian. I think it’s nicer.” Freddie smiled, watching his lips, wondering what they’d feel like against his own. He’d never kissed anybody before, let alone a man.

“Say the same thing, but in Persian.” He asked.

“Dewsett darem.” He smiled up at him. “Isn’t it nicer?”

“Much nicer.” Jim let his fingertips wander when Freddie didn’t push him away, cupping his cheek and trailing his thumb along his lower lip. “What does it mean?”

Freddie’s cheeks reddened and he pretended not to understand him so that he wouldn’t have to answer. “I- I don’t-”

“You do.” Jim somehow got even closer, until Freddie was in between him and the bar, his skin prickling with excitement. “You’re pretending.”

Freddie must’ve had guilt written across his face; he gasped when Jim leaned in and kissed him, one hand coming up to grab Jim’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to push him away or pull him in, and stood motionless for a second.

Jim pulled back. “That okay?”

Freddie forgot all his words again; all he could do was cup the back of Jim’s neck and pull him in again. 

He was inexperienced, and Jim could tell he was inexperienced, but his lips were soft and there was something sweet and earnest about the kiss, far more emotion than Jim usually got in messy kisses against the wall at a club. For Freddie, though, the feeling was heaven, completeness, an experience he’d never thought he’d have; it was so wrong, and everything told him he was doing something wrong, that he was breaking laws.

The man next to him was shoved down on the bar, laughing as he wound an arm around his lover’s neck and kissed him again.

Jim cupped his cheek as they pulled apart, and Freddie couldn’t help but feel that anything, anything at all, was okay in this room, so long as you were happy.

“What does it mean?” Jim asked again, smiling widely.

“I love you.” He whispered. “It means I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you found this fun (and can forget my dubious writing of EFL - I tried to base it off people that I teach English to!) - please leave your thoughts below!


End file.
